From the Lost and Found
by PostMeridiem
Summary: Olivia realizes her life is missing something.  Something more important than a pea coat.  Post season three fic - finally complete.
1. Introduction: Surprises

**Rating: **K+  
><strong>Spoilers: <strong>Yes. This is a post season three fic, so basically everything ever.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>All the really cool, recognizable things in this story belong to the lovely people who bring us Fringe. The embarrassing (and hopefully minimal) grammatical errors are all mine.

**Author's Note: **This is the first in what will most likely be an eight chapter story. I'm pretty far along in the writing so I shouldn't be making you wait too awful long for an update. In fact, this chapter is so short I think I'll try and upload Chapter 2 later today. Of course, comments and concrit are much appreciated but not by any means required.

**Introduction: Surprises**

Olivia Dunham has never liked surprises. She doesn't really understand why so many people enjoy being blindsided. Maybe, she supposes, their lives are frequently disrupted by unexpected bouts of happiness. It's quite nearly a foreign concept to her. Surprises for Olivia are things like meeting a better version of herself and watching a building full of people vanish into the ether. And "ether" is just a poetic way for Olivia to gloss over the fact that she was also surprised by the existence of an entire universe.

For someone who doesn't like surprises, Olivia Dunham has chosen a hell of a career path.

Part of her wonders why she doesn't relish every twist and turn or thrive on the adrenaline like her alternate seems to. Even in her own head it sounds like an odd notion, but Olivia thinks expecting the unexpected and excelling in the unknown would really suit her. Like it really should have been an aspect of her personality, but its chance to grow died with the people she's loved and the reality she tried so desperately to hold on to. Now Olivia's just too tired for any of that. Maybe she just needs someone to rekindle that quality in her, that thirst for knowledge.

Maybe she just needs someone.

And suddenly she's searching her pockets and her drawers and the coat hook that looks so empty without a coat. No, not empty exactly, but something much worse – _wrong_. Something is missing. Something besides a pea coat. Something is lost and it's just at the tip of her tongue, in dark corners of her normally brightly lit mind. She knows it's something terribly important because there's a tear rolling down her cheek unbidden and she feels like if she doesn't sort this out it will be waiting to _surprise_ her, lurking behind all the obscured shadows that make up her life.

She's frantic and she doesn't understand and when it comes to her brilliantly compartmentalized emotions, Olivia Dunham always understands. She scrambles frenetically through her belongings and in her haste knocks down the picture Astrid snapped of herself and Walter on his birthday last month. She stills as she gazes at the shattered glass on her floor and realizes it's time for a deep breath. Possibly more than one. But a few deep breaths are all she needs because, _really_, she's fine. As she picks the photo out of the shards of glass, her eyes fall on the smiling face of Walter Bishop. The corner of her mouth lifts slightly as she is filled with the odd sort of affection she feels for the closest thing she'll ever have to a father figure; however, trepidation is bubbling just beneath the surface. She hasn't feared the man since childhood, that isn't the problem. The problem is their similarities, which are beginning to weigh heavily on her more every day. Like the fact that she's running through her house like a madman as if she of all people could simply _forget_ something. (She's tried, but apparently eidetic memories are more often a curse than a blessing.)

She's got to stop having these episodes. She _will_ remain in control because there are very few things Olivia Dunham, Super Soldier by creation and Gate Keeper by predetermination, values more than control.


	2. 1985

**Words: **979  
><strong>Spoilers: <strong>Yes. This is a post season three fic, so basically everything ever.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>All the really cool, recognizable things in this story belong to the lovely people who bring us Fringe. The unfortunate errors are all mine.  
><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Chapter 2, as promised. Sorry if it's a tad bit later than expected.

**Chapter 2: 1985  
><strong>

Walter was nearly hopping with joy when Olivia walked through the front door of the lab with a carryout bag. Olivia mused to herself that Walter either must have remembered she was bringing his traditional end-of-the-case pastry or he finally managed to teach that damn goldfish to respond to vocal commands.

"Oh, Olivia! I am so glad to see you, you are just in time to feed Rodger his bedtime snack!" Olivia ignored the statement for the most part and instead asked who exactly Rodger was, because the fish was named Rochelle and Olivia liked to keep track of how many living things resided in the lab. Walter looked at her oddly and answered with "Rodger the fish, of course!" After a brief pause, understanding dawned on Walter and he exclaimed "Ah yes! I discovered earlier today that Rochelle did not have lady parts and it seemed disrespectful to keep calling him Rochelle. Continually referring to him as a female is no way to get him to respond to vocal commands!" Olivia nodded her agreement before handing Walter a scone.

"They were out of your usual, so I hope a scone will suffice," she offered with an apologetic smile.

"That _is_ disappointing," Walter admitted, "but it's been a while since I've had a good scone. Thank you, dear." And with that he was tottering off to the back of the lab with a scone in his hand. By the time he made his way back to Olivia she had made herself comfortable on a stool and was a eating a cinnamon roll. He now had a scone in one hand and what looked like some kind of collectable coin in his other. "Olivia, dear, have you seen my… um, my… oh poop. I haven't got the slightest idea what I'm looking for." Olivia smiled uneasily as she thought about the broken picture frame from this morning that was waiting to be picked up off her bedroom floor.

"I'm sure we'll- _you'll_ remember it. You will." The slip was enough to throw her off balance and earned her a strange look from Walter. She couldn't keep up the eye contact and instead averted her gaze to the coin moving rapidly between Walter's fingers. The motion, which normally made her think of Walter's eccentricities, instead brought the number 1985 to the forefront of her mind.

"Walter, what happened in 1985?"

She lifted her head to reestablish eye contact and instantly regretted it - Walter's expression had fallen and he looked utterly stunned into silence, which was a feat rarely accomplished. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to croak out "That… that was the year I realized I lost something." The clarity and emotion in his voice almost made him seem sane, despite the cryptic statement.

Tentatively, Olivia opened her mouth and asked so softly it was almost a whisper, "What, Walter? What did you lose?"

The sadness didn't leave Walter's eyes, but his gaze turned distant as he said, "You don't know how many times I've asked myself that very question. The first time I went Over There I almost had it, it was right on the tip of my tongue…" The sentence trailed off and Walter's eyes abruptly returned to Olivia's face. Then, in a tone of voice most people would use for inquiring about the weather, he wondered aloud, "Did I ever tell you that Elizabeth and I had always wanted a daughter?" He had, in fact, told her many times, though usually it was said in a bittersweet moment of almost fatherly pride. This was different. The fact that Olivia had absolutely no idea what to make of this conversation was written all over her face, but Walter plunged ahead anyways. "I feel like we would have had a son, though." Once again his eyes became focused on something far away, only visible to him. "He would have helped me find it."

He then fixed Olivia with a gaze she found altogether unsettling. It was the combination of the feeling that he was staring into her soul and the knowing in his eyes that was making her uncomfortable. After displaying a small smile that Olivia could describe only as "heartbreaking" he declared, "Elizabeth would have raised him to be a gentleman," and finished by adding with a careful tenderness he reserved for Olivia, "So maybe he would help you find it too."

Olivia felt the blood drain from her face even as Walter suddenly decided this conversation was over and happily returned talk to the earlier topic of pastries. She, however, couldn't let it go. Whatever Walter had been saying had her on the edge of remembering… something. No, this time she knew it wasn't a something. It was a someone. And then it all started to slip from her grasp but she wouldn't give up her newfound knowledge that easily. She held on with everything she was worth even as it seemed she was bartering for it, offering up her entire mind for the little snippet of memory. Her vision began to blur as little spots started to obscure her vision. Talk of scones in Walter's unique timbre floated around the peripheries of her mind but slowly faded as she decided that she was following this feeling where ever it may be leaving to. The lab was spinning now, but that wasn't the right word. Undulating. The lab was _undulating_ around her. That was the word. It made her feel like smiling because she'd heard him say it before. Peter would never let her hear the end of it if he knew his vocabulary was wearing off on her.

And with that thought, Olivia Dunham hit the unforgiving concrete floor of the lab.


	3. The Picture

**Words:** 988**  
><strong>**Spoilers: **Yes. This is a post season three fic, so basically everything ever.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>All the really cool, recognizable things in this story belong to the lovely people who bring us Fringe. The unfortunate grammatical errors are all mine.  
><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I love writing Walter, so this was one of my favorites. Also, I'd like to thank my lovely three reviewers! Reviews make me smile! So, if you are the reviewing sort, I would adore any feedback.

**The Picture**

Olivia seemed wholly uninterested in Walter's detailed analysis of the origins of scones. This didn't surprise Walter in the slightest. Really, if he couldn't keep her attention with Quantum Entanglement, there was no hope for a history lesson on pastries. She usually pretended better, though. When she began blatantly ignoring his direct questions he knew he should probably ask her what was on her mind.

Either that, or try and catch her before she hit the lab floor again.

Unfortunately, Walter had that thought a second too late and now Olivia was unconscious on the concrete and he had no idea what to do with himself. He went to worriedly touch her face before checking for head injuries and a pulse. Now what? He knew that sheet of paper with Astro's phone number must be around here- But he cut that thought off abruptly as he realized that that was what he had been looking for in the backroom earlier! He was momentarily pleased with himself for figuring it out before he remembered that he had an unconscious federal agent on his floor. He stared at the lab's old phone for a few seconds hoping it would jog his memory. It wasn't the number he'd forgotten – it was whether telephone numbers were six digits or seven. Then there was the whole matter of dialing out of the building. Oh, poop.

After a few seconds of utter hopelessness he realized that he was a doctor. A doctor who could handle this perfectly well on his own. He shuffled back to Olivia's crumpled form to check her abnormally rapid pulse again before threading his arms under hers and hoisting her up to nearly his height. She was a tall girl, though, so her feet dragged as they made their way towards the couch in her office. The journey was a bit of a struggle but he got her to the couch without damaging too much lab equipment. He summoned one final push of energy to lift her body onto the sofa. After letting go of her legs, he went to remove his other arm from behind her back only to be immobilized as her head fell onto his shoulder. He was struck again by that paternal fondness he often felt for her as he briefly wondered if she'd ever had a shoulder to lay her head on before.

He gently laid her head against the armrest of the couch before tottering off to find her some water and something strong for the headache she was sure to have. He returned to the office, having collected a beaker of water and the _good_ painkillers, only to find Olivia still very unconscious. Despite his earlier confidence he had no idea what to do besides wait for her to wake up. She _did_ always wake up. Well, there was the one time he thought he'd lost her. That is, until she jumped out of a coma to start shouting Greek at no one in particular. If only Elizabeth had been around to know what she'd said.

Five minutes. He'll sit with her five minutes before he resorts to shuffling around campus asking anyone he can find to call an ambulance. He hates to resort to that because he always gets lost when he wanders around at this hour and poor Olivia would wake up only to have to go searching for him yet again. Lately he's been wondering whether she somehow managed to get a GPS tracker on his person or if she really does just know him that well. She interrupts his internal musings by beginning to stir on the couch, much to Walter's relief. He swears he hears her mutter "Dad" but for once in his life Walter lets it go.

With a couple swipes at her eyes and a wince from what is surely a pounding headache she's up and at 'em again, stumbling haphazardly over to her desk. "Olivia, dear, it would probably be best if-"

But Olivia's having none of it as she hurriedly digs through her desk, gesticulating animatedly while she shouts "Paper! I need paper!" For what is probably the fifth time that night Walter has no idea what to do with himself. She eventually comes upon a blank piece of scrap paper then grabs the pencil that always sits in the middle of the right side of her desk. Walter is thoroughly confused, but mesmerized, as she begins sketching something. He knows it was an old hobby of hers before the worlds started falling apart at her feet but he'd never actually seen her pick up a pad and pencil.

After a few minutes she collapses into her desk chair letting out a huff of breath that makes her long hair fly away from her face. She sizes up her completed drawing – it's not spectacular but it will due. Sometime during her frenzied impromptu art session Walter had come to stand behind her right shoulder and he was now looking at the paper in rapt awe. Her eyes travel over the total mess she's made out of her once orderly desk before landing once again on the face she conjured up with her pencil from the dark corners of her mind. She's fairly certain that that man should be hanging his coat on the hook that she always leaves empty and it scares her more than she'd care to admit. Now she's staring at him and the sight fills her with this strange kind of (totally unfounded) longing.

"Walter?"

"Yes, dear?" He makes eye contact for a fleeting second before looking back to the man (Walter sees him more as a boy, but it's all just semantics, really) on the paper.

"I think I miss him."

He lays an understanding hand on her shoulder before he sadly replies, voice trembling, "Me too."


	4. The Pictures

**Words:** 789**  
><strong>**Spoilers: **Yes. This is a post season three fic, so basically everything ever.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>All the really cool, recognizable things in this story belong to the lovely people who bring us Fringe. The unfortunate grammatical errors are all mine.  
><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Um. Real life happened unexpectedly; very sorry for the wait! This chapter is kind of short so I'll try and get chapter five up fairly quickly.

**The Pictures**

This was getting ridiculous. It had been weeks since the "incident" and her walls were now covered in the drawings. Her desktop too, she noted as she pushed papers aside so she had a place to sit her coffee mug. The lab was engulfed in a distinctly somber sort of tension and, thanks to Astrid, was filled with enough baked goods to last them through to next winter. Everyone was treating Olivia as if she was something fragile, like if they mentioned the strange collage covering all the empty surfaces of her office she might just break into pieces. They shouldn't have wasted their time; she's all kinds of damaged but she'll never be _broken_. She's far too stubborn for that.

Her thoughts are interrupted by Walter's sudden decision to start playing children's tunes on the grand piano that looks so very out of place in the lab. She hopes someday he may progress from chopsticks to something she can better appreciate. Maybe she could convince him to learn some Bach, though she reluctantly admits that what she needs is some jazz.

Glancing down at her coffee then back to the wall she sees _him_ at the piano. He looks good with it. She has to quell the urge to draw him playing because she's been doodling enough on her work time and besides, this is getting out of hand. Also, she doesn't think she could draw him at the piano without including herself in the picture, sitting next to him on the bench or resting her elbow on the piano and just watching him play, and that would be a little too creepy. Her eyes fall on the picture of him in a hospital bed but she quickly looks away because it makes her too sad. It feels like getting left behind. Instead, she averts her gaze to one of her favorites: the one of him standing in a doorway with a quizzical expression on his face. She just knows she's on the other side of the door with a bottle of whiskey. That picture feels like hope.

She's run his picture through the database so many times it's become a part of her daily routine (call Broyles, get a coffee, check the database). Not a single match. She tries every time she has a new picture, though, because if she has to tell Walter she hasn't found him one more time she's fairly certain that one of them will cry.

After finishing what she thinks was an attempt at _Three Blind Mice_ Walter wanders into her office to tell her that Astrid offered to give him a ride home but "Olivia, dear, that isn't a good reason to keep yourself here all night."

She offers him a small smile and gentle "Goodnight, Walter" as he stops to run his hand over the drawing closest to the door. He then turns to her, looking first into her eyes and then down to his hands. "Some sleep may do you good, Olivia," he adds before making his exit. He's really more observant than she gives him credit for. She's gotten an accumulative total of six hours of sleep out of the last thirty-six because every time she closes her eyes _he_ is there waiting for her. Every dream is in the first person but it's always quiet like an old silent film and hazy with pieces missing. Somehow she feels at home in whoever's life she's living and that makes her uncomfortable. She's lived enough people's lives to know she doesn't like the feeling but has to admit that this one feels more like her life than her own. She doesn't like to sleep anymore because every time she wakes she feels so _cheated_ when he's not there because she shouldn't have to lose him. He belongs with her – she knows it.

Maybe if she dove into that God forsaken tank again she could have a talk with him, as he seems quite at home in her subconscious. Christ, now she wants to draw him pulling her out of the tank. This is taking over her every conscious (and unconscious) thought. She knows it's way past time to talk to Walter. She's been avoiding the subject for the most part because she's afraid Walter will tell her how to get rid of him and she doesn't want that. She _needs_ him like she's never needed anyone before and she doesn't want to lose him. She wants to find him. If Walter won't help her then she'll do it on her own but she has a feeling that finding a nonexistent person is exactly the kind of thing Walter would do on his day off. She'll talk to him tomorrow.


	5. The Search Begins

**Words:** 986**  
><strong>**Spoilers: **Yes. This is a post season three fic, so basically everything ever.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>All the really cool, recognizable things in this story belong to the lovely people who bring us Fringe. The unfortunate grammatical errors are all mine.  
><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Okay... real life punched me in the face again, so I'm sorry that this chapter wasn't up especially quickly like I said it would be. Anyhow, enjoy and thanks for reading.

**The Search Begins**

She knocks on Walter's hotel room door bright and early the next morning. The door swings open to reveal a robe clad Walter and she thanks every deity she can think of that he actually wore something under the robe this time. He looks surprised, but still happy to see her, though he mumbles sadly that she just missed breakfast.

As always, Olivia cuts right to the chase. Holding up a sketch of the man she's begun referring to as her imaginary friend she asks, "So, want to help me find someone who doesn't exist?"

Walter doesn't have time to appreciate the rare shy smile she's offering him because he's too busy running over to the chalkboard that he somehow managed to get into his hotel room and shouting, "Olivia, that's just brilliant! I can't believe it never occurred to me…" his sentence trails off as he tries to figure out exactly how to explain himself.

Of all the reactions her inquiry could have been met with she really didn't see this one coming. And in her life that's saying something. Quietly closing the door behind her, she follows him to the chalkboard. Once there, though, he seems to be at a loss for words. He puts down the chalk, apparently coming to the conclusion that whatever he's about to explain to her he can't represent visually. She decides it's time to politely nudge him along and softly asks, "Walter?"

When he looks to her again he has light in his eyes like she's rarely seen and a smile breaks out on his face. "He doesn't exist!" he says giddily as if it's the most obvious, yet profound, knowledge bestowed on man. When met with Olivia's blank stare and the way she's impatiently rocking on the balls of her feet he adds, "Well, he doesn't exist in our timeline at least. He must have meddled with the timeline."

"We're dealing with a time traveler?" Olivia asks tiredly as she massages her temples.

"Well, I'm not sure _traveler_ is quite the right word. All I can surmise is that he knowingly altered his timeline fairly drastically, the effects of which are unpredictable at best."

"So, what? He played with time and accidently got himself erased?"

"No, I think everything about his actions was extremely deliberate. Maybe he thought by deleting himself he could fix a broken timeline." Olivia wondered what exactly a broken timeline was but didn't have much time to ponder it as Walter seemed to be on a roll and continued his explanation by saying, "He may have fixed whatever broke his timeline, but ours is obviously not complete without him. Your numerous sketches are a testament to that fact." He paused before adding, "Your connection to him is quite impressive. It could be the Cortexiphan, though I suspect you two were were paired sexually." He punctuated his final sentence with a wide smile that would have made her blush were she not accustomed to Walter's frequent, wildly inappropriate outbursts.

This was all well and good but Olivia was impatient and finally just asked what she really wanted to know: "How do we get him back?"

He looked at her helplessly before admitting, "My dear, I haven't the slightest idea." Her face fell and he said, "I'm sorry," because he was, for both of them.

"No. No, Walter there has to be _something_ we can do." She was panicking now and he was never the placating type. "I can't keep doing this. We either need to find him or… or I need him gone." She choked on the last word and there were tears in her eyes now. Her voice was steadily increasing in volume as she carried on with her speech. "I need my life or my life with him. I can't live both. I feel like, like my mind is living two lives simultaneously and the split is _killing me_." Her words were starting to blend together due to her rapid speech but she carried on anyways. "Lately my life has been this strange amalgamation of Olivia and Peter-and-Olivia and I'd prefer the latter but I'd settle for-"

"What did you say?"

Olivia paused her tirade to give Walter a confused look before saying, more softly and slowly this time, "I said my life's been a strange amalgamation of two lives lately." She was certain she'd used the word correctly.

"No, no. You called him-"

"Peter," she finished for him. "Because that's his name," she said as an expression somewhere between recognition and awe crossed her face.

"Peter." Walter said it with such affection that it nearly broke Olivia's heart. "There is _something_ we could try," Walter started tentatively, "but I don't like it."

"What is it, Walter?" She'd do anything.

"I think the Cortexiphan is helping you establish this connection with him. Maybe if we put you on a very high dose you would be able to pull his consciousness from whatever remains of his timeline and into your mind."

Olivia has had far too many drugs in her body and far too many people in her head but she just knows that Peter's worth it. Though she highly doubts she'll get a concrete answer, she asks, "How exactly would I go about that?"

"However you always do, dear. I've never known you to fail at anything you set your mind to. I think it's the one thing you're incapable of." After looking pensive for a moment he amended, "Though dropping some acid wouldn't hurt." Lovely, she thought. She knew what would follow that statement.

She managed to disguise her apprehension as mild annoyance when she said, "And with LSD comes-"

"The Tank."


	6. The Tank

**Words:** 1,364**  
><strong>**Spoilers: **Yes. This is a post season three fic, so basically everything ever.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>All the really cool, recognizable things in this story belong to the lovely people who bring us Fringe. The unfortunate grammatical errors are all mine.**  
><strong>

**The Tank**

Olivia and Walter made their way to the Kresge building, though the tone was notably different than that of their other occasional weekend visits to the lab. Walter was still rolling that coin across his hand frantically when they walked through the double doors but it wasn't soothing his nerves today.

"It's going to be fine," she reassured the both of them.

Walter knew she was trying to placate him, and he appreciated the effort, but he had to warn her. "Olivia, I just don't think this is a good idea. The stress this drug combination will put on your system is more than most people would be able to handle-"

"I'm not most people, Walter. You know that." _Because you made me this way_ was left hanging in the air.

Walter was the picture of desperation, watery eyes and all, as he gripped Olivia's hands and emphatically said, "I can't lose you too."

Understanding showed on her face as she removed her hands from his grasp to wrap them around his shoulders and fold him into what was a very rare display of affection for Olivia Dunham. "I'll be back. I promise." She heard him sniff before he released her and then gave her a single nod in the affirmative.

"Okay," he finally said because he knew Olivia didn't break her promises. He then made his way to a table of wires, electrodes, and Olivia's best friend the Synaptic Transfer device. A few minutes later they had her all wired up and she decided that anyone looking in would have assumed she was at least half machine. He helped her into the Tank for what must have been the fortieth time and gave her a regretful glance and a nod before closing the lid.

"Can you hear me, Olivia?"

"Yes." She warily surveyed her familiar surroundings.

"Alright, I'm going to put the LSD into your IV first. That should help with some of the Cortexiphan's more… _unpleasant_ side effects, but I'll be adding it to your IV shortly after." Olivia was starting to feel more at peace with her surroundings and she had a feeling it had very little to do with her efforts and more to do with the drugs. "Now, I want you to relax. Open your mind," he said as if she'd never heard this speech before.

Walter droned on but soon his voice faded away to silence and she opened her eyes to find herself in what was, much to her surprise, not an empty bed.

"Peter."

They were lying on their sides, facing each other in a light-filled room that she didn't recognize. She reached out a hand to touch his stubble-covered face and he smiled at the contact before he looked into her eyes and said in an airy, low voice, "Hey there, sweetheart." For some reason the endearment spurred a reaction in her and she couldn't imagine _not_ kissing him in that moment. So, she surprised them both by leaning forward and placing her lips on his. It seemed fitting that she should make the first move but she couldn't quite figure out why. The kiss was delicate and bittersweet. He threaded his fingers through her hair like he'd been wanting to for so long. The kiss then became a little less _delicate_ as her hands moved to the nape of his neck and her tongue traced his bottom lip before pulling it into her mouth. She felt more than heard his small groan and she knew it was time to pull back lest she get carried away. She reluctantly broke the kiss to rest her forehead against his before retreating to her side of the bed and moving her hands back to the space separating them.

"I missed you 'Livia." There was a pang in her chest at the shortened version of her name which was so intimately familiar.

"I think I've been missing you my whole life," was her unorthodox reply.

This obviously threw him as confusion painted his face and he asked slowly, "Do you remember me?" God, it was such a simple question, but so complicated. She knew him better than anyone but she didn't know a thing about him.

"I _know_ you, but I don't exactly _remember_ you," she tried to explain. He raised an eyebrow at that and she tried to defend her case. "It's like I've known you my whole life but I don't have the memories to back it up," she said exasperatedly. If anything he looked amused now. "Look, I know I must sound crazy but-"

"Hey, it's okay. I think I understand," he soothed. His expression had morphed into one of empathetic understanding and he laid a comforting hand on her waist. He was stroking her side gently with his thumb and she was instantly calmer. "How did the whole bridge thing go?" he asked out of genuine curiosity.

She was caught off guard for a moment but recovered quickly and replied, "Both sides are working together well, all things considered." He looked so relieved she couldn't help but wonder what answer he'd been expecting.

Apparently that satisfied him because he proceeded to abandon that topic entirely. "Are you real?" He asked, as if her existence was the one in question. "And where are we exactly?"

"Well, working in Fringe Division has convinced me that reality is just a matter of perception," she started but didn't finish when she saw the look on his face. He dismissed her inquisitive stare with a shake of his head so she carried on. "I'm fairly certain that we're in my mind."

His expression immediately fell and she didn't know what she'd done. "Oh, Olivia," he said sadly before stroking her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" She asked, confused.

"I never wanted you to do this again, not for me."

A corner of her mouth lifted as she countered, "I get the feeling you're worth it."

The statement brought a smile back to his face and he asked, "So what now?"

"I'm going to bring you back to our timeline," she said proudly.

"Please tell me you don't mean in your mind."

"Well, it's all we've got for now, so yes."

"No." It obviously pained him to say it but he was resolute.

"Why the hell not?" Now she's angry. She finally found him and he was going to leave her again. That's not how that story is supposed to end. He's supposed to come back with her because he always does, eventually.

He frowned deeply when he said, "We saw how that worked with William Bell." The holes in her memory are subtly filling in when she's not paying attention and she somehow knows exactly what he's talking about. "If that's the only solution you've got," he's stumbling on his words now, "then you're going to have to let me go." His frown has disappeared but his eyes are glassy. He strokes her cheek as he says, "I love you, sweetheart. I hope you know that." It would have been a beautiful confession of love were it not also a goodbye.

"No, peter. No!" She says through tears. She sees the sun rising outside the window across from the bed and she suddenly knows exactly where she is. "Look, I'm not letting you get away so easily this time. I'm not leaving without you. I _will_ find a way to bring you back with me." The reference to the past momentarily throws him before he catches her determined tone of voice. He's heard that tone before.

"Olivia, don't do anything stupid," he attempts to warn her. He doesn't want her in another hospital bed because of him. When he looks at her, her tears are gone and she's as composed as she always is. Apparently, in her own head, she can appear as composed as she imagines herself to be.

"You really scared me for a second there, Peter." And he doesn't realize the significance of that statement until she leans in for a kiss and whatever reality they're in explodes around them in a flurry of white.

**Author's Note: **Hey look, it's the first real cliffhanger of the story! No worries, the next installment will be up in the near future. As always, thanks for reading(:


	7. Fear

**Words:** 957  
><strong>Spoilers: <strong>Yes. This is a post season three fic, so basically everything ever.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>All the really cool, recognizable things in this story belong to the lovely people who bring us Fringe. The unfortunate grammatical errors are all mine.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> As always, thanks to the readers and reviewrs.(: Only one or two more chapters after this, depending on how I feel about my ability to write epilogues.**  
><strong>

**Fear**

Once Peter registers what Olivia's fear means for his life he gets a bit nervous. Olivia can be _unpredictable_. Sometimes when she's scared he starts to glow. Other times she starts lighting things on fire with her mind. It really could go either way, but he thinks this time might be something entirely different. He has a feeling Walter probably thought it'd be an excellent idea to pump Olivia full of Cortexiphan; so, the unexpected way in which everything was dissolving around them really wasn't _that_ unexpected. He couldn't really find his body anymore but Olivia was doing something akin to holding his hand and now she was pulling him away…

* * *

><p>Walter was starting to worry. Olivia had been in the Tank far too long for his liking. With that many drugs in her system he really didn't want to leave her unconscious for too long. He looked for a Redvine to calm his nerves. He didn't flick a coin across his fingers. Machines started beeping at him, alerting him to her spiking vitals and he refused to wait any longer, no matter what she had told him to do. "Peter, it's time to get her out." Peter had been a reluctant participant in this whole Tank ordeal from the very first time but he always stuck around because he wanted to know someone would be there to pull her out (preferably before she lost all higher brain function). That and she asked him nicely. He never could refuse her anything. So, as soon as he got the go ahead, Peter rushed to the tank to lift her out. It was more of a struggle than usual because she wasn't helping him at all this time. He soon realized it was because she hadn't woken up. Well, that was a new one.<p>

"Walter," he scolded in that angry tone of voice he reserved for times when his father used Olivia to play with the laws of nature.

"Oh dear," is all Walter had to say. As helpful as that was, Peter couldn't find it in him to be too angry, because the old man looked close to tears. Peter turned back to the unconscious woman in his arms, smoothing down her hair before checking her pulse with bated breath. Much to his relief, she did indeed have a pulse, albeit a thready one. He hastily removed electrodes and wires and whatever the hell _that_ was before carrying her to the couch in her office. After attempting to dry her off some, he covered her damp, cold body with a blanket and she looked to anyone who didn't know her like she was simply sleeping. Anyone who _did_ know her would know that Olivia never got this much peace, especially in sleep.

"We have to get her to the hospital," he said as he turned to face Walter, but Walter's expression told him that that would be a wasted effort. _Now_ he was pissed. He couldn't count the number of times he'd told her he never wanted to see her in that God damned tank ever again. It's one thing to recklessly endanger her own life but, God, didn't she know that his life was worthless without her? She was throwing everything away and what for? And that's when Peter's signature useless angry tirade screeched to a halt, because he really didn't know _what for_. "Walter," he started tentatively, "why was Olivia in the Tank, exactly?"

Walter looked puzzled at the question and didn't offer an answer. Instead he said in a familiar, but still unsettling, tone of voice, "I thought I'd lost you, son." Now didn't seem like the best time to rehash Peter's childhood but the statement seemed to have more relevance than either of them could understand at the moment. Peter's mind was filled with hazy images of himself and Olivia in his bed during the early hours of the morning. It wasn't _exactly_ his bed, though. His stomach sank at the memories that felt more like dreams. What had she _done_?

Olivia picked this rather inopportune moment to start convulsing violently. Walter started running about the lab, literally running, in search of something to calm her body. Peter, for his part, held her head still because she really didn't need head trauma on top of all this. When Walter finally found what he was looking for, they somehow managed to hold her arm still enough to insert the needle. Peter looked away quickly because the scars got him every time. Walter's strangely colored miracle syringe stopped her convulsions but she was still just as unconscious as she was five minutes ago. "Walter, get me the phone. I'm calling her an ambulance." He wasn't going to leave her side.

"Peter," Walter started nervously. He really didn't want to upset Peter any more but, "the phone is attached to the wall."

Peter scrubbed a hand across his face before saying in an incredulous tone, "Really, Walter? No, not the forty year old phone that no longer functions, the spiffy new _cordless_ phone that sits on your desk of all places." Peter was so good at misdirecting anger outwards it was amazing he had any left for himself. Walter trotted off on his newly assigned mission and Peter watched him go before turning his attentions back to Olivia. He cradled her face in his hands and looked down at her, worry distorting his normally boyish appearance.

"She's a fighter," he heard Walter mutter, somewhere over his shoulder. Peter let out a dry chuckle as he reached for the phone because, really, Walter's clichéd words of reassurance (borrowed from one of the medical dramas the old man had been obsessing over lately, no doubt) couldn't have been more accurate. Peter felt the slightest bit lighter as he accepted Walter's proffered ray of hope and dialed the phone.


	8. Catching Up

**Words:** 957  
><strong>Spoilers: <strong>Yes. This is a post season three fic, so basically everything ever.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>All the really cool, recognizable things in this story belong to the lovely people who bring us Fringe. The unfortunate grammatical errors are all mine.  
><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Hey, guys, I'm alive! I can't apologize enough for the epic long wait for this chapter. I have many excuses to offer you, such as the recent demise of my beloved ancient computer, but I have a feeling _finally_ posting this chapter would be better compensation. I had planned on having this finished by the season 4 premiere (which was pretty nifty, yes?) but obviously that didn't happen. _Anyways_ here is the finally chapter, though I'm not quite sure I like the conclusion; so, though I fear the time for an epilogue passed with the summer haitus, I'm _pondering_ the idea - feel free to drop me a line if you have an opinion on the matter.  
>And of course, a huge thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed, alerted, or favorited - you guys rock!<br>**  
><strong>

**Catching Up**

Olivia opened her eyes to an unfamiliar white tiled ceiling. Looking around she concluded that she was in a hospital bed. She felt around for her glock, which was, of course, not under her pillow. God, she hated hospitals. Her expression of annoyance and apprehension was quickly replaced by a much warmer one as she took in the haggard form sleeping with his head resting on the bed. He looked like he might have fallen asleep holding her hand. She couldn't resist running her fingers affectionately through his hair. This seemed to rouse him from sleep and he groggily sat up while rubbing at his eyes. He glanced up and was instantly awake at the site of her eyes staring back at him. At his dumbfounded expression her face broke out in a seldom seem toothy smile.

"Olivia." He said her name with such reverence she wondered exactly how long she had been out. Apparently she wondered this out loud, because he answered her by saying "Five days now. I think you over did it a bit." He looked so tired; she wondered if he'd gotten any sleep in his own bed in the last five days.

She gladly accepted the cup of water he was offering her as she sat up and asked "Peter, what _happened_?" Her head was so jumbled, though she thought at least part of it was due to whatever meds they had her on.

Peter looked thoughtful for a moment before saying tentatively, "I _think_ you saved my life." She thought so too but the details were so fuzzy. "I think after my run-in with the machine, I for some reason or another tried to drastically change the future we were headed towards and then I, not totally unexpectedly, stopped existing for a while there."

Olivia didn't miss his forced nonchalance – he knew something he wasn't sharing with the class. "Why would you change the timeline if you knew what the consequences could be?"

He looked uneasily at the far wall for a moment before looking straight into her eyes and saying, "Because you're worth it." He knew she wouldn't like his answer but if their relationship had one underlying clichéd moral, it was that honesty really is the best policy. His eyes then traveled down to observe his hands in his lap, too nervous to see the expression on her face. "I don't remember details or much of anything concrete but I do remember the general feelings. I felt like I was finally absolving my guilt, righting a wrong and I was doing it because of you."

"Promise me you won't do anything like that for me ever again." She wouldn't admit it, even to herself, but she didn't just want him with her, she needed him there.

"Only if you promise me you won't go diving into that damn tank for me ever again," he countered. She decided to let that discussion go for now.

"I feel like my life without you was all just a weird, hazy dream," she said distractedly. _Maybe a nightmare._

Peter looked at her quizzically at the mention of the broken timeline before saying, "Well, that's more than most of us have got." After a beat he muttered, "Must be the Cortexiphan."

It was her turn to look quizzical as she asked, "Wait? Nobody remembers?"

"Just you and me, Sweetheart," he said with his signature smirk. She had really missed that smirk. "And even I had to take a few days to figure it out. I couldn't remember for the life of me why you'd been in that tank and I finally realized I'd never known. If I try hard enough I can remember the emotions from the other timelines, but it's all so foggy. I also had a memory that I was fairly certain was from _your_ head but I remember less of it every day."

"Do you think we'll forget all this one day?" she asked because every time she tried to remember there was one more detail missing.

"Maybe." He certainly hoped they lived long enough to forget this. "Probably," he amended.

"Walter?" She wasn't sure quite what about him she was asking but she wanted an update no matter.

"He doesn't seem too concerned with the fact that he doesn't quite remember why he had you in a sensory deprivation tank. It's probably not that out of the ordinary for him," he mused, sporting a smile tinged with sadness. "Regardless, he keeps telling me how good it is to see me every time I look in his general direction." Lowering his voice he added, "He was really worried about you. Kept saying that he knew it was a bad idea and he shouldn't have let you do it." He looked down again before attempting a lighter tone and saying, "He and Astrid went for some kind of food or drink or something not too long ago. He'll be so excited to see you."

Now that she felt she was sufficiently caught up and nothing had gone too drastically wrong while she was sleeping, she just wanted to touch him, to feel how real he was. Having just woken up from a five day nap, she had very little impulse control. "Come here." She scooted over and gestured to the now empty half of the hospital bed. He smiled before carefully climbing in next to her. She laid her head on his shoulder and he began leisurely tucking loose hairs behind her ear. Olivia never really liked change, but this, this was good. Maybe she could learn to love it. Times were confusing, however, and maybe everything was exactly the same. These were things she would ruminate on later, when she had too much time to think. Right now Peter's familiar, comforting touch was the only thing on her mind. Though he was never really gone, it still felt like a reunion.


End file.
